


Nothing Suits Me Like A Suit

by DeMarcos



Series: Suit Up [1]
Category: Futuristic Violence and Fancy Suits - David Wong, Zoey Punches The Future In The Dick - David Wong
Genre: Age Difference, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Assassins & Hitmen, Attempt at Humor, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotions, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27127133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeMarcos/pseuds/DeMarcos
Summary: This Fourth of July, Zoey and the Suits must face their feelings. AndMormons.
Relationships: Zoey Ashe/Will Blackwater
Series: Suit Up [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992787
Comments: 22
Kudos: 10





	Nothing Suits Me Like A Suit

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt in this fandom, so be gentle. I tried to keep with the humor present throughout all of David Wong's oeuvre, but if the jokes land poorly, that's on me. To any Mormons, I apologize if this offends but the opening was right there in canon, and I had to take it. I also apologize, as my only knowledge of Mormons comes from the movie _Orgazmo_ and the episode _South Park_ did on Joseph Smith. The title is from _How I Met Your Mother_.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that one more time?” Zoey asked from within her beanbag fortress. “And try to use your mouth this time, not your butt.”

She didn’t have to see Will to know that he was clenching his jaw tightly in aggravation, nor did she have to see Andre to know that he was doing his best to hide a grin.

“The Church of Mormon,” Will enunciated slowly, “we have credible evidence from several sources that say the Mormons will try to make an attempt on your life.”

“Oh. I thought that’s what you said but none of the words made sense when strung together in that particular order.” Zoey maneuvered herself out of the beanbag chair, rolling this way and that to get gravity to work in favor so she could sit upright. Only slightly out of breath from the effort, she stared up at Will.

“Mormons. The super religious, no sugar no caffeine, Holy Father and I love you, _Mormons_? Those are the people trying to kill me?” Zoey thought they should get a chore wheel made up of all her -and her deceased father’s- enemies, something they could spin once every several months to guess who would go for her head this time.

Will would hate it, but Budd and Andre might get a kick out of taking bets on the Chore Wheel O’ Death, done up in flowery letters and glitter glue. Then again, finding out Mormons had earned a slot on the Wheel would have confused her just as much as it was now.

“The magic underwear Mormons? _Them_?”

“Yes,” Will said exasperatedly, “the same Mormons who view races other than Caucasian as inferior, who subjugate women to the role of broodmares, and create polygamous compounds that allows them to have sex with minors, under the guise of religion. _Those_ Mormons.”

Zoey scrunched up her face. “I thought the point of all religions was to have sex with minors?”

Sensing that they were about to get into a conversation that would just take them round and round, wasting time and words, Will lifted his glass of oolong tea Zoey had made for him to his lips and took a deep drink, refusing to respond to the obvious debate bait.

He calmly set the glass down and turned his gaze to the rest of the people gathered in the, ugh, Farting Room. And here he’d thought Mold Room was a ridiculous enough name.

“Echo, I need you to find whatever electronic footprint you can, to find out _why_ they’re coming after Zoey. If it’s a simple question of offense to their _morality_ ,” Will didn’t have to make air quotes for everyone to catch his sarcastic emphasis on the word, “we might be able to bring them to the table with an offer that would appease their tender sensibilities. If it’s a rogue element within their ranks, we might be able to get the Temple in Salt Lake to put out an official decree against any assassination attempts, lest the responsible party be excommunicated.”

“They still do that?” Zoey asked, crawling across the floor to kneel at the edge of the solid mahogany table, lifting herself up to fold her arms atop it, resting her head in the crook of her elbow as she peered over at Will. “Are they stuck in the Dark Ages?”

“The rest of the world might be a little more advanced,” Budd said, drawing Zoey’s attention, “but Mormons? They might as well be. I’ve seen people pray with snakes, speak in tongues, and sacrifice animals all in the name of God, but that’s nothing compared to the Mormons.”

Echo lifted a delicate eyebrow at Budd. “Don’t hold back, tell us how you really feel.” She said teasingly.

“Darlin’, if I did that, we’d be here all night.”

That took Echo aback and she looked at Budd as if seeing a whole new side of him.

“As fascinating as it would be to listen to your tour of America’s most asinine religious practices,” Will interjected, “we don’t have that kind of time. Budd, Andre, I need you to put your feelers out within the community, grease any palms you have to, but find out which party is responsible for setting up the hit and who is taking it. If the Church hired from within Tabula Rasa, I want to know where the hitter lives, who their friends and loved ones are, where they go for breakfast, et cetera. Check the Skin Wall. I doubt they’d resort to such a public forum, but if they went to an outside player, we need to know what organization represents them, so we can find their weak points.”

He turned to Wu, who had so far been standing against the wall silently, but as soon as Will’s cold robot eyes focused on him, he shook his head. “I’m a bodyguard, Will, not a pro. You know I don’t run in those circles.”

“Of course not, but any good bodyguard would know to check out any potential threats entering the city. Surely you know that any professional service, incorporated or independently operated, would have a list of known hitters to be on the lookout for.”

Wu nodded his head, unable to argue with the logic. “I can call some friends, see if they heard of any out-of-towners suddenly arriving.”

Zoey lifted her head up from her elbow pillow. “And what am I supposed to do? Just sit around waiting to be turned into pink mist? I don’t have to be fashionably inclined to know pink would clash with my outfit.”

The only reason Zoey knew Will was smiling is because over the past two years, she’d become familiar with what passed for expressions on his facial features. An almost imperceptible upturn of the lips, his frigid blue eyes warming up for the briefest of seconds before the factory settings kicked back in.

“Nothing of the sort. You’re to carry on as if nothing is amiss, so we don’t show our enemies even the slightest hint of a chink in the armor. If they know that we know, it could set a previous unforeseen chain of events into motion. Besides, we still need to finish organizing this year’s firework display for the company event.”

It was to be the first Fourth of July celebration in the city that Zoey was to work on. Her stay in the hospital the previous summer had prevented her from having any involvement in the party planning, as Will and the Suits had decided it was too trivial an affair for her to worry about while she got better.

Not that she was much for Independence Day celebrations to begin with. That wasn’t to say she didn’t enjoy drinking and partying back in Fort Drayton, but she’d learned early on that alcohol and explosives went together like babies and pedophiles. Zoey tried hard to remember the name of the classmate who’d blown off half his hand when he’d drunkenly forgotten to let go of the firework he’d lit, but all she came up with was Scissor Fist, the name he’d been stuck with after the fact.

After that, she made a point to only have a drink or three, adamantly staying away from any and all explosive devices. The decision had been a smart one on three fronts: it meant she never had to worry about losing any of limbs (until she moved to Tabula Ra$a), was sober enough to help her mom after her shift at the strip club when she came home stumbling drunk and giggling about some new man, and Stench Machine, despite his own particular brand of chemical warfare, hated the odor of sulfur and nitrate from fireworks.

Zoey hated when Stench Machine withheld whatever meager love he decided to dole out to her and did her best to please his olfactory senses, even when he refused to extend the same courtesy.

As if on cue, she heard one of his plaintive meows from outside the Farting Room doors, demanding someone pay attention to him, followed by a horrific cat fart. Carlton was experimenting with new gourmet cat food recipes, and he was gonna have to cut down on whatever it was he was mixing into Stench Machine’s dinner, before he turned into a fart balloon.

Will, somehow able to read her thoughts from just the look on her face, sighed. “It’s probably the soybeans. I would suggest recommending Carlton move to some other source of protein.”

“He’s going to be so disappointed…” Zoey lamented, and Will didn’t bother asking her to clarify whom she meant.

“Be that as it may, we have our jobs to do, and I suggest we get to them.” Will stood and motioned for everyone to hop to it, as he’d want reports on their Mormon problem by the end of the day. Echo, Andre, and Budd said their goodbyes and made their way out of the room. Will then looked to Zoey expectantly.

“What?” She asked, staring back into those emotionless blue eyes. She knew what he wanted, but she enjoyed making him repeat himself, something he absolutely hated. Zoey only felt slightly guilty for indulging in a bit of schadenfreude. _Slightly_.

“The Fourth of July party? We need to finalize the plans?” He said, clearly pained.

“Oh, yeah, right. Sorry, my mind was stuck on turning Stench Machine into a fart ray.”

From out in the hall, Zoey heard Andre burst into raucous laughter.

* * *

“Will, you’re not gonna like this.” Echo said, by way of greeting.

Both he and Zoey peered up from the tablet they’d been working over. They had adjourned to the Buffalo Room for the planning stage of things, and had set up a ring of holographic maps of Tabula Ra$a on all the displays, with areas marked off and allocated for various party needs, such as Zoey’s desire to keep the open bars and the fireworks cache on separate sides of the park space they were renting.

It was early evening by that point. Zoey hadn’t realized the time, so caught up in helping Will fine-tune the holiday plans, until she glanced up and saw the foyer baked in the rays of sun slowly drifting toward the western horizon. Her stomach rumbled loudly.

“I don’t like a lot of things,” Will replied over Zoey’s stomach, “but I still insist on hearing about them.”

Echo waved a hand, beckoning them toward the Farting Room. Zoey, bracing herself for bad news, hung her head in dismay. “Well, if the Mormons kill me, at least I won’t have to worry about ending up like Scissor Fist.” It was funny how since moving to the city, the sentences she spoke just got more and more nonsensical.

“What?” Will asked, confusion marring his otherwise implacable robot face, clearly unprepared for the statement.

“Never mind.” She said, standing up. Placing a hand on her hip, Zoey looked down at Will, who glanced up at her with an arched eyebrow. “Let’s go find out what ridiculous and elaborate way I’m gonna be eviscerated this time.”

“One of these days, I’m going to get offended at the insinuation I’m incapable of doing my job and _won't_ do my job.” Wu said, appearing in the doorway of the Buffalo Room.

Heading out of the room, Zoey rolled her eyes as she made to push past Wu to follow Echo. “Pfft. I’m sure your wife would just love that, you not protecting me, considering how much she hates me.”

Wu took up the space in front of her as they moved through the Casa, Will bringing up the rear. “She doesn’t _hate_ you… she just hates that your existence means I can’t be at home as much as she wants, or that I might die trying to keep you alive. Or that I'll end up like Armando and..." Wu cast a glance back at Will over his shoulder for a brief moment before setting his gaze forward once more. "Well, that's why she's not particularly fond of you."

“Kinda sounds like a nicer way of saying she hates me. Like spraying vanilla air freshener over a bad case of the taco shits.”

“Did you just refer to _yourself_ as a taco shit?” Wu asked, glancing back at her over his shoulder.

“Uh… yeah, I think I did. I dunno, I never had a man’s wife hate me. Thought this sorta thing only happened with the wives of rich old men looking for a dumb party girl. And I’m not a dumb party girl, so I'm not used to being in this kinda situation, it makes ridiculous things come out of my mouth.”

“Pretty certain the situation _you’re_ thinking of doesn’t apply here.” Wu said, tone gentle but firm, as if to clarify his role in any would-be rumors about them.

Zoey thought of Armando and her joking mood soured a bit. “You can go ahead and tell her she doesn't have to worry, I already learned my lesson once, don’t throw myself at the men trying to protect me... does that mean Echo is still up for grabs?” Okay, it hadn’t soured completely.

“After saying it looked like my face caught fire and someone tried to put it out with a fork?” Echo asked, doing her best to suppress a smirk. She’d gotten used to Zoey’s playful put-downs about her appearance, and found them quite creative at times, to the point that she sometimes overdid her hair and outfits, just to see what the boss would come up with next.

“We all look the same when the lights go out, is all I’m saying.”

Wu, Zoey, and Will marched into the Farting Room through the fake hologram door, their eyes already on the displays Echo was setting up.

It had been almost two years since Zoey had taken over her father’s vast mostly criminal-mostly legit empire and somehow, in those almost two years, the faint aroma of cigars, testosterone, and ass hadn’t completely faded away, despite her best efforts to alter the vibe of the room. Compared to vanilla taco shits and Stench Machine’s fart problem, however, the smell wasn’t anything she felt like complaining about.

At least they’d remembered to close the door to the bathroom, a small courtesy to Zoey and Echo so they wouldn’t have to see the mess they’d made of it. It was the one thing they’d requested she not change, since the Casa was still their place of business and she’d granted them the one small concession. There wasn’t much from Arthur’s reign she’d left intact, but she figured she owed the male members of the Suits that much, not changing the bathroom of their private war room.

Sometimes Andre lamented Candi’s absence, but that was one of the first things she had gotten rid of when she’d decided to stay in Tabula Ra$a.

Zoey sat in one of the leather rolling chairs instead of her beanbag chair and waited for Echo to enlighten them all on what she’d found. Will sat down in a chair to her right, as Wu took up his customary spot near the door.

“I found out _why_ the Mormons are gunning for Zoey, and after I tell you, Will, you're gonna feel like an idiot for not seeing this one coming.” She wasn't issuing a challenge, but Will sat forward in his chair all the same, more curious than ever.

Echo hit a button and the display brought up a picture of some young-ish guy in a nice suit, smiling at the camera. When Will made no indication that he recognized the man, Echo nodded, as though it confirmed something.

“Remember Arthur’s will?” She asked.

Zoey couldn’t forget it. She’d watched the holographic last will and testament of Arthur Livingston from the floor of his vault, a boot shoved cruelly into her back as she laid there bleeding. He’d made it sometime after becoming convinced he was about to be unceremoniously shuffled off the mortal coil.

“How could I forget?” Will asked, unknowingly verbalizing Zoey’s thoughts. “It was an unforgettable affair.” A previously unknown daughter had inherited his mentor’s fortune and assets, inciting the wrath of a psychopath who tried to destroy the city to get at said assets. Or at least, one asset in particular. When it came to Christmases Will would remember, even into old age and senility, it was certainly in his top five.

“Did you forget the addendum Arthur added, to dissuade everyone from killing Zoey?”

“The one about the Mormons getting…” Will trailed off, something he didn’t do often, if at all, and all eyes were on him, watching the sickening horror of realization dawn on his face. Though Arthur had been well aware of what Molech was doing and had secretly made preparations for it, the addendum had been for anyone else who had designs on Zoey, be it in his inner circle or those outside of it, itching to fill a power vacuum.

Will cleared his throat, trying to recover from the egregious lapse of knowledge of his former boss' safety measures that were now threatening the life of his current boss. “In the event of Zoey’s death, Arthur’s empire was to be liquidated entirely and bequeathed to the Mormons. That’s their play. If they can have Zoey assassinated and pin the blame on someone else, we'll lose control of everything, all of Tabula Ra$a, and they'll get all his money.”

“Wait, wait, wait… If I’m the controlling interest in everything Arthur built, won’t my will supersede his?” Zoey had zero education when it came to the law, but there were a lot of judge and jury programs to watch on Blink, along with all the high-profile trials on the news feeds. The multiple trials of Latrell La’range had given her some small grasp of the lingo.

Will blinked. “You don’t have one.” He sidestepped that glaring oversight and continued on, already thinking several moves ahead. “I’ll have to call the lawyers in, get them to draw something up that would protect your assets from the Church. Without an heir, you’ll have to designate a beneficiary. And _no_ , you can’t leave everything to your cat.”

“Might want to hold off on that, as that’s what I’ve been building toward.” Echo brought their attention back to her and pointed at the young man’s picture. “Grayson Young. Formerly of Prince, Tapper, & Cohen, and was employed there as a paralegal when Arthur had his will electronically transferred from the vault when Zoey opened it. He’s also an elder of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I think this is where it all started. If we suddenly rush a new will through this law office, we run the risk of showing our hand, if he still has contacts there.”

“Find out where he is right now.” Will instructed curtly. “We need to set up a meeting with him, but take care not to broadcast it. If he’s a part of this, he may tip off whoever put out the hit. Get me a list of his known associates, too, in case he’s just a pawn who blabbed to the wrong person.”

“Sending the list to you now.” Echo said, fingers tapping on her tablet. “The Mormons aren’t big on Blink, so it’s gonna take some time to figure out his last known location, especially if he’s living outside the city limits. Being a paralegal doesn’t pay much, even if you’re a well-connected one.”

“Keep me informed. I want to know the second he’s found.”

“You’re gonna love this, Will.” Budd said, materializing through the hologram door.

“You’re all so sure of what I will and won’t like.” Will said, poorly hiding his eagerness to hear what Budd and Andre had discovered, at least in Zoey’s eyes. It was in the way his eyes gleamed, the subtle hurriedness of his words. He didn’t like being caught wrong-footed and wanted to make up for it as expediently as possible.

“If what I’ve gathered is correct, and it most certainly is,” Budd started, heading right for the drink cart to pour himself two fingers of whiskey, “it seems the Mormons hired The Surgeon to carry out the hit. It wasn’t on the Skin Wall, just like you thought, but I put the word out into the right ears.”

Will didn’t react at all, which in itself was a bad sign.

“Let me guess,” Zoey said, “they don’t call him The Surgeon because he helps heal people.”

“Oh, he heals them all right.” Andre said, stepping into the room. “He heals them of their worldly woes.”

“Lovely. I’m assuming he’s another in a long line of sexually frustrated men who just loves taking out their problems on women by raping and/or butchering them to death, perhaps as some convoluted excuse that it helps quell the demons in their souls?” She really needed to stop watching the Blink streams dedicated to mass murderers. It was a guilty pleasure. Like the one about some ancient boss bitch who liked to bathe in the blood of her virgin servants, because she thought it would keep her young and beautiful forever. Zoey found it endlessly hilarious and not just because she’d once been accused of being a cannibal.

One would think she got enough of the psychos in real life, but she figured it could be chalked up to doing research for the next madmen that came screaming for her head. Hell, she could probably produce one of her own, give her personal insight into the minds of men like Molech, The Hyena, and Dirk Vikerness. Then again, it would probably be a solid hour of her just making fart noises with her tongue over cropped photos of them, their heads crudely pasted onto pictures of turds.

“No, get your head out of the gutter, girl.” Andre sat down and smoothed down the tie of his black and purple pinstripe suit. “They call him The Surgeon because he can put a bullet into your skull from a thousand yards away. He once paralyzed a man at the behest of his wife. She didn’t want to have sex with him anymore, but didn’t want him dead, or to divorce him and lose everything to a prenup. Severed his spine with one shot but didn’t kill him. He’s precision personified. And definitely a white boy, because I would have just blown the poor guy’s junk off. Better to not have it at all than spending the rest of your life with a useless dong.”

Zoey giggled to herself. “Do you guys miss when you could go days at a time when no one said the word dong?” She thought back to the massive dong they’d had etched onto the skyscraper version of Andre, thrust magnificently into the night sky to piss off Molech.

“Don’t forget who made all this possible.” Budd said, motioned to the entire Casa, Arthur Livingston’s personal den of inequity. “Your daddy was King Dong.”

“Wow, okay, please stop before I need to bleach my brain.” It was bad enough she had to live with the fact that her mother ran a sex therapy practice and once taught Tantric sex out of their living room, she didn’t need the additional weight of Arthur’s perversions on top of it. Though, if she really thought about it, like sat down and traced a line backwards, it could be said her own perversions came naturally, thanks to her parentage.

“Back to the point.” Will reprimanded. “We have the Church of Mormon funding an incredibly dangerous assassin, one no one would be crazy enough to go after for the thirty-million-dollar bounty your father promised, should anyone kill you. And because no one has ever truly laid eyes on him, we can’t rely on Blink or any facial recognition software to pick him out of a crowd. Not that he’d be in the crowd. He’d be three blocks away on a rooftop, safe from any propellant cookers, anti-personnel measures, or private security on the lookout for weapons. This is a problem.”

“Is it just me or is anyone else still hung up on the fact that _Mormons_ are behind this? Forgetting the racism and misogyny and child rape, how are the run-of-the-mill followers gonna tolerate the massive windfall my death would bring them? They won’t even drink coffee, for chrissakes!” As a former barista, she took that personally. “But murder is a-okay in their book?”

Will shifted in his seat to peer into her eyes. “Think about it like this: a company that regularly deals with prostitution, drugs, organ harvesting, hostile corporate takeovers, and once dealt in human trafficking and devices that could turn ordinary people into superhumans, is run by a person that upon their death, would immediately liquidate the company into mere memory and send everything into disarray.”

“I know, you told me all this, sometimes it’s better to be the monster everyone knows, who will look out for the general welfare of the people who do all this, than to let someone else take it over, people who wouldn’t be so nice. You don’t have to repeat yourself, I know how much you hate it.”

“No, Zoey, I’m not. I’m speaking from _their_ twisted point of view. Your death, _one_ death, in their eyes, would stop the brothels, the drugs, the corporate crimes, make it all go away. And on top of that, the money would fund their temples, their missionary endeavors, all of it. To them, it’s a win-win scenario. They reap the moral and financial benefits of taking you out. They aren’t playing the long game, thinking ten moves ahead, where someone worse than Molech comes in and gets the trains back to running on time, only without the benefits of choice or freedom, who shuts down the charities and schools you’ve built to make the kids into drug mules or sex slaves. For these sort of people, the world only exists six inches in front of their faces, which makes them incapable of understanding the consequences and the _run of the mill followers_ , as you say, are sometimes just as bad as the rest, if not worse, because their silence means complicity. ‘To do a great right, do a little wrong, and curb this cruel devil of his will.’ Only in this case, _you’re_ the devil.”

Will lifted his hand, as if to cover Zoey’s as a way to drive his point home that she couldn’t see this a rogue faction of bad actors, that everyone was guilty by association, but thought better of it at the last second, and settled his hand back down, a few inches from hers.

“What about that cult guy, the one you convinced to overthrow his prophet, because he took his wife to the hospital? They can’t all be bad, can they? ‘You can please some of the people some of the time, but you can’t please all of the people all of the time,’ that’s how the saying goes, right?”

“The problem is, they won’t know what’s been done until after you’re dead.” Wu said. “Some might protest, some might decry the inheritance as blood money, some might try to get proper police involved, but it won’t change the fact that you’re dead and that legally, the money is theirs by right.”

“What if we went public? If I got on Blink and told the whole world that the Mormons are trying to kill me for a payday?”

“Not a good idea.” Echo replied. “That might invite someone else to do the job for them, if it meant obliterating you and everything your father built from Tabula Rasa. They won’t care that the Mormons reap the benefits, they’d only care about snatching up everything they could before the dust settles.”

“Which is why the most important thing to do now,” Will cut in smoothly, “while we track down both parties involved in the hit, is to find a lawyer with clean hands and no ties to the Church, and get him to draw up a new will. One that is ironclad and won’t revert to the one Arthur had filed when he died. It's the best avenue to ensure Zoey stays among the living.”

“And all I have to do is come up with an heir or a beneficiary that won’t nearly destroy the city, like when Arthur named me… Jesus, if these people wanted me to get my life in order, they should have sent me a copy of the Watchtower or something.”

“Nah, those are the Jehovah’s Witnesses and they’re not great, but nowhere near as bad as Mormons.” Budd offered helpfully from his position on the wall near the booze.

“Damn, now I _really_ wanna hear what the Mormons did to you, man.”

“Only if you got a good therapist on speed dial.”

* * *

Zoey was listening to the toilet analyze her pee when there was a knock on the door. Despite the soft tapping, it was like hearing a jackhammer go off and Zoey’s vision vibrated, brain knocking against the inside of her skull.

“It’s open but I’m on the toilet!”

There was silence on the other end. “I’ll wait.” Came Will’s voice, impatient but not persistent.

Figuring her tank was finally empty, Zoey let the toilet do its thing, gentle streams of water cleaning her up as it told her to hydrate properly, to combat the effects of a hangover. It flushed when she stood up and she pulled her pajama bottoms up before marching over to the door.

She opened it slowly, eyeballing Will in one of his pristine suits, this one the color of freshly cooled obsidian, seemingly bright eyed and bushy tailed, despite the previous evening’s drinking. “I really need to find out who manufactured your liver and get one for myself.”

Leaving the door open, Zoey made her way back to her bed and flopped down on the mattress. She heard Will enter her room, mindful to keep himself parked by the door, ever considered about propriety.

“The lawyers will be here within the hour. We’ll get everything squared away, signed, notarized, and filed before the day is out. Assuming there are no unforeseen hitches, it will render the hit null and void.”

“Fantastic. I can use the hour to regret being hungover and then decide which unfortunate soul is gonna have to shoulder the burden that is Arthur’s legacy.”

“ _Your_ legacy, now. It’s the entire purpose of getting the new will signed.”

“I thought it was to keep me from getting my head splattered on the sidewalk. It just comes with the added benefit of damning someone to run a criminal empire.”

“Yes, keeping you alive is paramount, but so is securing your control over the company. You can always change it later, if need be. For now, you can designate Wu or Echo as your beneficiary, someone you know and trust, who won’t go behind your back. If your circumstances change, if you have kids, you can always have the will adjusted to reflect that.”

“Aren’t you the one that told me I’d never find someone to have kids with, being in my situation, not when I’d never be certain of their motives? That I might never have a normal life?”

“Your _definition_ of normal could use some adjusting. For me, Budd, Andre, Echo, this _is_ normal. Andre has had multiple spouses, Wu has a family, and I... our normal consisted of the insanity that was our jobs in your father's world and our private home lives. Once you get settled, you’ll find a rhythm that will give you some thin veneer of normality.”

“It’s been almost two years. If I get anymore settled, this mattress and I will become one entity.”

“You know what I mean." Will took several measured steps into her room, motioning out the window with a hand. "In this city, you could go to any fertility clinic and choose a donor that would allow you to have the child you want. If you were too afraid to carry it yourself, a surrogate could be chosen and placed in a secure location until she delivered. Either route you choose, they would grow up with the best nannies, tutors, and bodyguards-”

Zoey made a noise with her face, lips pursing together around her tongue to blow a raspberry that cut Will off mid-sentence. “Ugh, just what every kid wants when they grow up. Though, they could have protected me from the girl who tried to suffocate me to death with her giant ass...”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Never mind.” Zoey said quickly, delightful visions of Jezza getting beaten down by a row of bodyguards floating through her mind. “Forget I said anything. I don’t need another dead body from my past cropping up because you got it in your head to seek revenge on anyone who ever wronged me.”

She glanced at Will pointedly, but he didn’t even have the good decency to look ashamed.

“Besides,” she continued, “if I go get a donor load, all my trolls will use it as more bait for the idea that I’m a completely unfuckable cow, and there’d be a line of guys around the block with dollar signs in their eyes, demanding DNA tests, just so they could slap me with a paternity suit."

Will circled around the bed, hands now clasped behind his back and gave Zoey a narrow eyed gaze. "That is why you pay us the obscene amounts of money that you do, to ensure that none of us would ever allow those mouth-breathers within an inch of your child or your estate." He said it with such ferocity that it made Zoey giggle.

“Aw, so vicious when you get territorial! Almost like the tin man _does_ possess a heart.” She rolled over onto his stomach, propping her arms up in front of her to rest her chin on her hands. She waggled her feet in the air behind her. "If this is a new upgrade you downloaded, I like it! Where do I submit my user reviews?"

Will said nothing, merely glowering at her in disdain and Zoey responded by giving him a wink and blowing him a kiss.

"In all seriousness, though, I wouldn't worry your half metal head about it. I’m just gonna end up leaving everything to Carlton. Pretty sure someone who has been alive since the Stone Age won’t screw things up too badly.”

“More like since the Renaissance, Ms. Ashe.” Carlton said as he entered her bedroom, Wu coming in behind him to lean against the doorframe.

Zoey lifted her head up to find he had a silver tray loaded with fresh cut fruit, pressed juice, a thick Belgian waffle dusted with powdered sugar, and a bottle of water with two aspirin tablets next to it. He might as well have been offering her divine ambrosia. She excitedly sat up on the bed and held out her hands to greedily take the tray. The first thing she put in her mouth was the aspirin, followed by water and a handful of strawberries.

“You want some, Will?” She asked around a mouthful. Another thing he hated. She grinned widely, mushy food squeezing out from her missing and chipped teeth.

“No, thank you. I’ll be downstairs. I suggest you hurry up and get dressed before the lawyers get here.”

“Sir, yessir!” She said, blowing him another kiss.

*~*~*

“I swear, I should just let The Surgeon kill me. Anything would have been better than _that_.” Zoey stood out on the patio with Will, watching the lawyers pull out of the driveway in their gazillion dollar penis-mobiles.

“It could have gone _much_ worse.” He offered placatingly. “One of them could have died during the proceedings, but lucky for them, they all got to walk out alive. Their wives and husbands will be so happy.”

Scoffing derisively at Will, Zoey turned on her heel to walk back inside. Her eyes met Wu’s, who was apparently just as blown away by what had happened as she was. She waved a hand at him, telling him to take five. He gladly beat feet away to wherever it was he went when he wasn’t guarding her body.

“Don’t you think it would have been better to find a law firm that didn’t employ people who all hate your guts?”

“They can take their hatred all the way to the bank and that’s all they care about in the end. We negotiate and make deals with those we have to, and we needed a firm that didn’t have a horse in this particular race. Dealing with people like them is a small price to pay for our peace of mind.”

Zoey had watched Will negotiate with psychos, mob bosses, CEOs (who were sometimes all three at once) and shady players on every rung of the ladder. He was impassionate, concise, and despite Zoey’s best efforts, always tried to stay several steps ahead of everyone else. What had occurred in that conference room was _not_ a negotiation.

The five cocksure men the firm had sent out had been generally dismissive of Zoey, even though she was their new client, and despite the obvious trepidation of having the deal with _the_ Will Blackwater, they toed the line with verbal barbs, cruel laughter behind their hands, and condescending mockery as they went over the fine print.

It had culminated in a moment, when the main lawyer guy, some overblown pompous ass, beer belly swelling over a belt that probably could have bought and sold her old trailer twice over, slid over the final piece of paper that would have sealed the deal on her last will and testament, telling her to ‘go ahead and sign that, sweetie’ in a sickeningly sweet voice. It wasn’t the tone that bothered Zoey, she was used to men thinking she was an idiotic child trying to sit at the adult’s table. She didn’t mind it so much now, as it meant they were underestimating her, not realizing her power by thinking they were taking it away from her. Morons.

No, it wasn’t the tone that did it, it was the words.

 _Come back off the ice, sweetie_ , she heard the Hyena say and Zoey froze up in her seat for all of about three seconds before recovering. It had been three seconds too long for Will, however, who was well aware where her mind had gone (seeing as he'd been there in holographic form) and he'd grabbed the lawyer’s hand, twisting it like it was made of putty.

The whole room had erupted, Wu bursting in to protect his boss, to find Will looming over the lawyer, who was lying prone across the table, arm twisted to the point of breaking as his associates shouted for Will to let him go. Zoey had still been seated in her chair, agog at what she was seeing but no worse for wear. Then, deciding there was too much testosterone in the air, she reached over the table, pulled the paper out from under the beer belly of the lawyer, signed it and threw the paper and his pen at his bald, gleaming dome.

“Go ahead and file that for me, sweetie.” Zoey had said in the exact same overexaggerated saccharine tone before getting up and leaving the alpha males to their pissing contest. Geez, couldn’t they have done it in the Farting Room, where it already stank of piss, she thought as she stormed out of the conference room.

No, it wasn’t the mockery of Will or their sexist dismissal of Zoey, it was Will’s reaction when they’d oh-so briefly gotten under her skin. He was a pro when it came to psychos, mob bosses, and CEOs. She knew what he was capable of it, she’d heard the stories the Suits told of their time in North Korea. Zoey had just never _witnessed_ Will engage in an act of physical violence. He usually had a drink in his hand, waxing philosophic as someone else did the violence for him.

“Right… peace of mind. I don't even wanna know _what_ just happened in there. Usually it's me flying off the handle and you having to sweep up after me."

Will smoothed a hand over the lapels of his suit, brushing away imaginary wrinkles. "It was one thing to mock me to my face, it was another so treat you so shamefully."

"Whatever you say, weirdo. If you’re done marking your territory, Mr. Vicious, I’m gonna go see if Carlton made lunch.”

“Ear quick," He said, ignoring her barb to produce his phone and stare down at the screen, "and then change your clothes. We have go to the park to oversee the setup of the Independence Day party.”

“Aw, c’mon, do I really have to be there?" Zoey whined, not caring if she sounded like a petulant child. "I wanna shovel pizza into my face hole and see how Stench Machine’s Blink feed is doing.” In the two years he’d been at the Casa, his lackluster hunting skills had gotten less pathetic. He had learned to go after weak and dying prey, instead of waiting until they had already died to attack them.

“That’ll just have to wait. There are permits to be signed for the fireworks display, the barbeque pits-”

“Isn’t there an assassin after me? Should I really be going traipsing around outdoors, where any ol’ sniper could pick me off?”

“That was the whole point of having you sign the new will, to nullify the hit. You’ll be just fine, I promise. We can now return to just worrying about the regular madmen who want to see you six feet under.”

“You mean the usual… ugh, okay, _fine_. I’ll eat and then we’ll go. I can watch Stench Machine murder an innocent, defenseless animal on the drive over.”

* * *

Much to Zoey’s disappointment, and the disappointment of his followers, Stench Machine had decided to spend his afternoon outside in a patch of sun licking his crotch. _If only we were all so lucky_ , Zoey thought as she, Wu, and Will made their way through downtown traffic. There was still a few days left until the Fourth of the July, but the entire city had been festooned in red, white, and blue. Even the food trucks had been decked out in patriotic colors, selling things like Uncle Sam’s Toasted Wieners, the man himself holding a hot dog and bun suggestively in front of his groin.

She glanced down at her shirt, the Statue of Liberty hiking up her dress to show off garters and a g-string in a looping animation, emblazoned with the words Lady Liberty in bedazzled, stylized font. She was sometimes glad she lived in a city that seemed to share her sick, twisted sense of humor, even if said city spent a quarter of its time dealing with those who thought the best kind of joke had her mutilated corpse as a punchline.

“Why does a city that prides itself on being essential a law unto itself enjoy Independence Day so much? You think they’d hate a government holiday like the Fourth.” Zoey set her phone down and glanced over at Wu, behind the wheel of the car.

“It’s less about the patriotic angle and more about celebrating their own independence, being somewhere they can do essentially whatever they want.” Wu explained. “Gotta remember, there are places in this country where women can’t go around half naked anytime they want.” He pointed out a woman on the sidewalk, covered in red, white, and blue body paint, covered with a few strategic pasties and nothing else. “Hell, there are places in the world where showing off _ankle_ is a death sentence. And who doesn’t love setting off fireworks for a week straight?”

“Security personnel, who can’t tell if it’s just kids setting off Roman candles or some whackadoodle going postal?”

“With the propellant cookers widely available now, security is more concerned these days with other kinds of weapons, shock clubs and whatever else these redneck Einsteins think up.”

Just the previous week, a man had been killed in a bar with a mountain climbing tool that had been honed to scalpel-like sharpness and reshaped to fit down the attacker’s pants, hiding it from view. It never set off any kind of warnings, right up until it had been lodged in the victim’s head.

“Necessity breeds invention.” Will supplied from the back seat.

“Point being," Wu continued, "you won’t have to be worried every time a bottle rocket goes off. You can just relax and enjoy the festivities.”

“Sure, sure, just pretend an entire religion didn’t just try to bury me for their thirty pieces of silver.”

“You know what I mean, Zoey.”

“I do… and I appreciate it. I just wish I could go one year without someone gunning for my head.”

“Your father spent almost twenty years dealing with that sort of thing every day.” Will said. “He still managed to live his life and have fun.”

“Somehow, I think you would frown upon my sudden love of cocaine and hookers. And not just because both are ridiculously expensive and bad for my health. That’s not living your life, it’s a coping mechanism for the sad realization that all the money and power you’ve accumulated _isolated_ you from a real life. Have you not noticed I don’t have friends or a bustling social life? Not that I had them before in Fort Drayton, but you catch my drift. The kind of friends money and power get you here isn’t real, not when everyone has an ulterior motive.”

“I’m your friend.” Wu offered with a smile.

“I literally pay you to watch me sleep, that’s not friendship, that’s borderline fetish porn.” Zoey said it to make a point but couldn’t help from smiling back at Wu at the sentiment. Will had warned her about the line between employer and employee, about the inherent power imbalance such a relationship created, but deep down, it made her feel good to hear Wu say it, even if it was only a half-truth, even if his wife hated her ever-living guts.

Echo had fallen into her little diss game, giving her just as good as she got some days. That was a kind of friendship, right, inside jokes and playful teasing? Budd loved telling her stories of the good ol’ days, of all the people he knew and _their_ ridiculous stories, relaying them as if they were his own. Wanting to make someone laugh, having someone to share those things, that was a kind of friendship, she thought. And Andre… sure, sleeping with her mother kinda made things weird between them for a while, but they were two similar peas, dick and fart jokes, Zoey setting up the pins so Andre could knock them down in his usual boisterous fashion.

Familiarity bred contempt but it also bred tight-knit relationships that Zoey had always wanted. So what if she also paid them to spend their time with her… if they honestly hated her, wouldn’t they find another boss, one who didn’t spend half her life in the crosshairs or drunk on a talking toilet?

“It’s true, though... I’ve had some interesting jobs before but every day with you is its own adventure. I like that. Keeps life interesting.”

“Well, in that case,” Zoey staged whispered to Wu, “don’t tell Will because he'll just get jealous, but I’m your friend, too. Also, don’t mention the fetish porn part to him, either.”

Wu finally found his way through traffic and they arrived at the park. It was already busy with people, workers setting up tents, digging pits, clearing away brush from the trees, and constructing whatever fancy things would be revealed at the party. Zoey thought back to Beer Mountain at the memorial for her father and wondered if enough time had passed to pull off something similar without being gauche.

Like the Halloween party at the Casa, the Fourth of July party was for Ashe employees and their families, to the point that they had hired an outside security firm -thoroughly vetted by Echo and Will- so their own security team could partake in the festivities. Some had even volunteered to cook, boasting barbeque recipes that would put the professional food service tents to shame. Andre had informed her there was a fierce betting pool going on, once an unofficial taste-testing competition had been organized and asked if she wanted in on it.

Of course she had, did she look like the type of girl who _didn’t_ enjoy barbequed meats?

Wu found a parking spot on the other side of the street and once the engine was off, he exited first, to ensure there were no unsavory types lingering about. The car’s warning system would have alerted them to any threats, but Wu got paid for doing his job, not listening to a computer do his job for him.

Once he gave them the all clear, Will stepped out next, making a show of donning his fedora and buttoning up his suit jacket slowly, giving everyone around them time to recognize who he was so they could plan their routes accordingly. Once the dramatics were over, he opened the passenger side door for Zoey, letting her out onto the sidewalk.

The pedestrians gave the trio a wide berth but Zoey knew all their Blink cameras had zeroed in on them, hoping their feed numbers would skyrocket due to a Zoey Ashe sighting. Some of the passersby waved at her, some asked to have their pictures taken with her, while others just laughed at her and mooed.

Zoey did her best to ignore them, reminding herself that she apparently had more fans than trolls, and did her best to smile in the photos people asked of her, making sure to show off all the right assets while hiding her teeth.

After a few minutes, Wu beckoned to her, silently telling her it was time to move on before the crowd turned into a mob. Zoey said goodbye to everyone and made to follow Wu down the block, so they could cross the street toward the park. She could feel Will a few steps behind her, making sure no one followed her path too closely. She was the meat in the sandwich of two of the most feared men in the city and their reputations alone kept the vultures at bay.

They stood at the crosswalk for what felt like forever, watching traffic hurry through the intersection before the light turned red, the occasional brave soul making a mad dash across the street, too impatient to wait for the safety of the crosswalk signal.

Zoey took the time to people-watch, eyes landing on the well-dressed professionals out on their lunch breaks, young couples out for a day trip in the city, and of course, tourists. Overweight Midwesterners with fanny packs and souvenir tee shirts, foreign tourists armed with traditional cameras and Blink cameras, and people who’d gotten bored with Vegas and were checking out Tabula Ra$a for the first time.

She watched them all file past her on the sidewalk, past the food trucks, sidewalk merchants, musicians singing for their suppers with open instrument cases that begged to be fed with spare change, fighting for space with the homeless who were also begging for change, but couldn’t complete with the ones who knew how to lazily strum a few chords of the most recent pop hit.

It was the madness of Tabula Ra$a, the ultra-rich, the moderately well-off, and the dirt poor all occupying the same stretch of sidewalk at once.

“Zoey, come on.” She heard Wu say. The little white crosswalk man was lit up, indicating that the pedestrians could occupy the intersection safely. Zoey hopped to, jogging across the pavement to catch up to Wu.

Time suddenly seemed to slow down for Zoey, the world going oddly quiet. There was screeching, like nails on a chalkboard, followed by shouts, as a cherry red sports car sped through the red light, the driver obviously having important places to be and was unable to be bothered by the needs of those crossing the street. Mainly, the need to not get run over by a cherry red sports car operated by a selfish asshole who had overridden the self-driving feature.

Someone dove into Zoey, shoulders digging into her stomach as arms wrapped her waist and she had the idle thought that it was the first time anyone had hugged her in a long time, not including her mother. Why they felt the need to do it in the middle of the street was beyond her, until her ass hit the pavement and she realized it wasn’t a hug. Huh. Maybe she shouldn’t have wrapped her arms around the person in reflexive response of human contact, as random street hugs probably weren’t ideal at a time like this.

Pain rippled up her butt bone, traveling up her spine. Her head cracked against the pavement, setting off another ripple that went traveling down her body in the opposite direction, crashing into her butt pain until it created a swelling chorus of agony.

Time sped up again once the adrenaline rush cleared, and she peered up at the person who had been hugging her. Ice blue eyes stared down at her, blown wide in an expression she never would have attributed to their owner. _Fear_. In the periphery of her vision, Zoey could see a forest of legs had grown around her, some walking past as if nothing had happened, others slowing to get a good shot on their Blink, and a few that had stopped altogether to lend whatever assistance they could. Her gaze, however, never left those fearful eyes peering into her own.

"Will..." She breathed, stunned.

As the volume was dialed back up on the world, she could hear their questions, drowned out by the shouts and curses of those who had witnessed what had happened and wanted to make their anger known, even if the selfish asshole was long gone by now.

“It’s okay, folks, nothing to see here. Everything’s quite all right.” That was Wu, using his professional voice to get the onlookers to go about their business. One by one, the forest of legs disappeared, leaving them alone. Once it was all clear, Zoey felt Wu kneel beside her, his voice pitched low as he spoke. “Will, I need you to get up. She’s okay. You hear me, she’s _safe._ ”

His voice seemed to cut through whatever it was that had taken ahold of Will, the fear vanishing as the robot logic took control once more. Zoey felt his arms release their vice-like grip on her as his weight was lifted off her chest. She never would have thought he was that heavy until she was able to take a full breath of air. With a pained groan, Zoey slowly sat up, taking inventory of the damage.

Her jeans, already strategically ripped in some places, had taken the brunt of her butt damage, so she figured she was all right in that department. Her head hurt the most, where it had hit the street at full force and she lifted a hand to push her fingers into her hair, searching for a lump or an open, freely bleeding wound.

Her fingers came back stained with red but it was nowhere near the kind of injury she’d sustained in the past. Once your own bones had gotten caught on the dining room furniture, everything after that seemed less dire. She felt hands hook underneath her armpits and she was unceremoniously dragged to the curb. Wu appeared in her line of sight.

“Zoey, how are you feeling?” Wu was gazing into her eyes, trying to determine the extent of her injuries.

She tried to answer him, but everything was all a jumble. Too much had happened too fast (or rather, too slowly) and it was hard recollecting everything when none of it made sense. “My butt…” She said, pointing to her head with the bloodstained hand. Wu took her hands in his own and could feel them shaking.

“Your eyes are dilated… okay, I’m going to get you back to the car, and we’re going to call the doctor, have her meet us at the Casa, does that sound good to you?" He whipped out his phone to dial the number and make the arrangements. It took less than two minutes. When he was done, he maneuvered himself to wind an arm around Zoey's back, lifting her up off the curb. “Will, some help!”

Zoey felt Will come to her other side, bearing some of the load so she could be carried between them, back across the intersection toward the car. She heard Wu yelling at the crowd to back away, to make room for them. She was jostled between them and the motion hurt her head. Something warm trickled out of her ear.

She let out a pathetic gurgle. “I’m leaking…”

“I believe she’s concussed.”

“Obviously. Put her in the back with you and keep her awake. Do _not_ let her fall asleep.”

“I know what to do with a person who has a concussion.” Will was using his annoyed voice. Zoey could recognize it from ten paces, as he usually directed it at her. There was something else underneath it, but her brains slowly dripping out her ears, she didn’t have the capacity to focus on what it was.

They stopped at the car and she heard the door open. Four hands attempted to set her down carefully in the back seat.

There was a popping noise, followed by the sound of a boom.

Huh. She didn’t remember a bullet hole in the car door. Maybe one of her trolls had left it there for her.

“Get down!” She heard Wu shout. Instead of gently being placed in the car, she was manhandled inside and Zoey screamed out in pain. She heard the door slam shut and the back seat was suddenly very cramped.

“The Surgeon.”

“I thought we had taken care of him!”

“They were supposed to have taken the will down to the courthouse to be filed but either the idiot clerk or paralegal they delegated the task to took the scenic route, or-”

“Or someone got to them before they could make it and Arthur’s will is still in play.”

“The idiot better be dead, or he’s going to _wish_ he was.”

There was another popping noise, then two more in quick succession. Even with a high-powered rifle, the sedan had been specially designed for this kind of event. After all, if it couldn’t keep the president safe, the Suits wouldn’t have used the same model for Zoey. The Surgeon could pump all the rounds he wanted into the windows, they wouldn’t give. Still, it wasn’t a smart idea to just sit around listening to the bullets ping against the glass.

“I suggest we have this conversation while we’re driving.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Zoey was squished to the side as Wu climbed over the seats to get to the steering wheel. Once his bulk was gone, Will sat back, dragging Zoey with him. He situated her in his arms and leaned her back, so that her head was cradled on his shoulder. He smelled like scotch and expensive cologne.

“Zoey, can you look at me?”

It hurt to move her eyes but she did the best he could. “Your hat…”

In the melee, his fedora had flown off his head at some point and he’d been too preoccupied to retrieve it. “I have plenty more where that came from, don’t worry about it.”

“That sucks,” Zoey replied sluggishly, “it makes your stupid robot head look even more stupid. I kinda liked it.”

Normally, Will wouldn’t indulge her when she referred to him as a robot, but he had to keep her talking and if it meant wasting precious words in a stupid conversation, it would be well worth it. “I suppose you think I’d look better in, what, a beanie with cat ears? Or a bunny hat, where the ears come down to make a scarf?”

Zoey started to laugh, but the second the sound escaped her lips, it felt like her head caught fire. “Owww…” She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. It helped ease the pain, to close her eyes and the silence didn’t hurt either. The darkness behind her eyelids was so inviting, unconsciousness an easy way to escape what she was feeling. Inky black space wrapped around her and Zoey felt herself succumbing to its embrace.

“Zoey! Zoey, c’mon, wake up!”

Will’s hand was on her face, cupping her cheeks as he tilted her head towards him. It was enough to cajole her awake. Her sloe-eyed gaze bored into him. That fearful expression was back. She grinned laconically, not caring if it showed off her teeth. Even seated side by side, he was still so much taller than her. It was unfair.

“You should get the kind hunters wear in the winter, the fuzzy ones with ear flaps. I think it would go greaaaat with your suit.” Jesus, she sounded like her mother when she was high. That was definitely a bad sign. Maybe she really was leaking.

Will pulled his hand away from her face and saw the blood on his fingers, the blood from her ears. His eyes widened.

“Yeah.” Wu piped up from the front seat, splitting his attention between the road and the rearview mirror. “I think it would set a trend for sure, if he got some new hats like that, right, Will?” He put extra emphasis on that last part, not-so-subtly telling him to keep her talking.

“Uh, yes, yes, that’s right.” With his bloody hand, he began stroking Zoey’s hair, methodically feeling around for any other cuts or scrapes. “I imagine if I showed up at a fancy party wearing a hat like that, they would fly off the shelves the next day. You should go shopping with me, for these… hats.”

Zoey knew he didn’t mean it, but it was amusing to have him indulge her. “Shopping? I thought all your suits came factory direct and you just snapped them on in the morning, like a dress-up doll…” She trailed off, hazy mind bringing forth a half-remembered conversation. “Echo’s seen you without a suit on. She could tell me if you have those drilled in holes where the plastic pegs go.”

She forgot that she couldn’t laugh, laughed at her own joke, and immediately regretted it. “Ooooowww, my butt really is leaking.” She swung her arm around to poke at her head again, fingers brushing over Will’s. “Yup. I’ve officially sprung a leak.”

“Wu.” Will said dangerously, clutching Zoey’s hand in his own to stop her from aggravating her wounds.

“I’m going as fast as I can-”

He was cut off by a popping noise, this time from the rear of the car. The back window was now sporting another nice new bullet wound, though thankfully, it barely dented the glass. Will was the most thankful, as otherwise, the shot would have splattered his brains across the front seat. He scooted his tall frame down as low as he could go, tugging Zoey down with him.

Will pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Echo. Her face and torso appeared in front of them as a holographic projection.

“Will, what the hell-”

“There’s no time for that. We’re heading back now, but we’re being followed by The Surgeon. Wu called in a doctor for Zoey, but she might express some concern when she finds out we have an assassin hot on our trail.”

“I’ll make sure to add a little incentive when they arrive. Shouldn't be too expensive.”

“Excellent. When she arrives, inform her that Zoey has already tried to fall asleep once.” At that, he jostled Zoey in his arms, making sure her eyes were open.

“Dude,” She drawled laconically, “get your hand off my pancake fat.”

The great thing about the phones is that they only projected the faces of those calling. Echo could only see the consternation on Will’s face, but she couldn’t see the position that he was in, slumped down in the backseat of the car, Zoey glued to his side like a mutant conjoined twin.

“Pancake fat?” He asked, only because he knew it was important to keep her engaged, no matter how banal the topic.

Zoey’s head lolled to the side to peer up at him. “You know, the roll of fat right underneath where the bottom of a girl's bra meets her ribcage. It’s like a stack of pancakes. Pancake fat.” She said this matter-of-factly, like she should have had that information already in his storage banks.

“Man, I’m never gonna look at pancakes the same again.” It was Andre, voice filtering in from behind Echo.

“If you’re trying to cup a boob, just cup a boob, otherwise stop getting my hopes up and move your damn hand.”

Clearing his throat, Will moved his hand from its position on her… pancake fat and slid it over to her side, still keeping his hold on her while obeying her request to stop touching her. There was laughter from the other end of the phone.

Wu caught Will’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Half your age plus seven, man.” He said, a weird edge to his voice.

“As I was saying.” Will continued, as though nothing untoward had happened and outright ignoring Wu’s half-warning, “make certain she’s prepared for Zoey’s condition. After that’s done, I want you to call Decker’s firm and find out what happened with the new will.”

“No need. They make their interns submit all their documents to the clerk of courts. Poor kid was just found dead. The will is gone.”

“Wonderful.” Will said, even though it wasn’t remotely wonderful at all. “It means I dealt with those mentally deficient cretins for nothing, as it still somehow got out that we were pushing through Zoey’s will.”

“Silver lining, we don’t have to pay their attorney fee now. And, we found Grayson Young. Budd’s bringing him in now.”

“Excellent. Call Kowalski, get him to set up a perimeter around the Casa. If he needs more people, offer Megaboss Alonzo a favor if he can supply the manpower. The Surgeon prefers to take out his targets from afar, but if we keep Zoey sequestered, he’ll have to make a move in-person, in order to collect on the bounty.”

“Assuming he doesn’t take us out before we get there.” Wu said, weaving in and out of traffic as they left Tabula Ra$a proper, making their way into Beaver Heights.

“Oooh, he’s gonna take us out? I hope he takes us to that new Mexican fusion place. The refried bean vapor sounds awful and I wanna try it.”

“If we live through this, I promise I’ll have them come to the Casa, a private catering function just for you.”

Zoey narrowed her eyes sluggishly at Will. “Promise? You promised me I’d be okay, and now look at me. I’m leaking.”

Will blinked down at her, wearing an expression she wasn’t familiar with. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

It was regret. She’d never seen regret on his face before. That was new. Zoey grinned up at him, thinking she had to make him feel better, then frowned when grinning hurt her face.

There was a muted silence in the car for some time, Will quietly talking to Zoey to keep her conscious, the voices on the other end of the phone call muffled as Echo prepared for their arrival.

Zoey felt the car make a turn and they sped up. The motion turned her stomach.

“We’re coming up to the grounds,” Will said to Echo, “open the gate.”

Echo was on the ball, as they seamlessly rolled up the driveway without pause. If she’d been seated upright, Zoey would have seen the carefully manicured lawn decorated with festive ribbons, the old tiger enclosure torn out and replaced with a reflecting fountain that was currently spraying colored streams of red, white, and blue. The landscapers had done a hell of a job, but Zoey didn’t see their efforts.

All she could see was the wrinkle on Will’s suit from where the sweat from her forehead had made contact with the fabric. She didn’t point it out, as either Will was already aware of how badly she was destroying his pristine appearance or he hadn’t noticed it yet and she didn’t want to give him a coronary. The doctor on-call was afraid of Will, as most people in Tabula Ra$a were, and would probably be too frightened to perform chest compressions. Or to open up the compartment on his back to switch out the batteries or whatever.

Wu stopped the car at the little paved roundabout that would open up the car doors to the patio of the front entrance. Shutting off the engine, he craned his body around, clutching at the passenger seat to anchor his weight. His eyes skated between Will and Zoey, then down to the phone in Will’s hand where Echo’s face was floating in the air.

“Here’s the plan. The perimeter defenses have gone online and we’re about a quarter mile from the gates. He’s probably not had enough time to set up a shot, but we’re not taking any chances. Echo, I need you to open up the front doors for us, we’ll be coming in hot.” To Will, he said, “On my count, open your door and haul ass. I’ll be right behind you. Zoey, it’s gonna hurt like hell but I need you to help Will carry you as much as you can. No going dead weight on him. You think you can do that?”

She thought she was giving Wu a thumbs up, but her arm just flopped around in her lap like a dying fish.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Wu shuffled over the center armrest to get into the passenger seat, hand hovering over the door handle. He spared a glance to Will and they both nodded.

“One… two… _three_!”

Sunlight poured into the back seat, no longer blocked by the tinted windows and Zoey slammed her eyes shut when her already pounding head began doing the tango. She was roughly pulled out of the car by Will. True to Wu’s word, it _did_ hurt like hell.

Zoey cried out as her legs hit the pavement, but she bore through the pain, knowing she had to get her body through the door. Her sneakers scraped across the patio, scuffing the soles as she tried to make her feet go. Will had her in another hug, his arms like a vice around her torso.

 _Huh, two hugs in one day. And it’s not even my birthday_.

The hinges of the front door whined as it was yanked open, and she could hear the combined voices of Andre, Echo, and Budd shouting at them to hurry up. Zoey half crab-walked over the threshold, Will ordering them to make a hole as he carried her inside.

Wu slammed the doors behind them, the heavy security doors rumbling as the massive iron bars encased within locked into place. He activated the safety perimeter from his phone, sending the Casa into full lockdown.

Will had settled himself on the floor, Zoey half in his lap, settling her into a prone position so the doctor could check her out.

Zoey figured they were safe now, and with a doctor close by, there was no better time to give him the good news.

“Your suit is wrinkled.” She told him plaintively, before turning her head to vomit all over it.

*~*~*

“If you wanna risk it for the biscuit, be my guest, but I ain’t doin’ it. I like my junk exactly where it is, thank you.”

Zoey was listening to Andre and Echo argue over who was going to go outside to try negotiating with The Surgeon.

“All our junk is gonna get blown off, if no one goes out to break the news to him.” Echo glanced at the security feed on her phone. “And even if we do find out wherever he's holed himself up, there’s a good chance he won’t believe us. I wouldn’t, especially if I heard it coming from Will’s mouth. No offense.”

“None taken. It’s smart to assume whatever I say is only a ploy to get you to come to the table.”

The doctor, Chopra or Chaudhri, whatever her name was, Zoey couldn’t exactly recall at the moment, was standing beside her, desperately trying to get her patient back into bed. Normally, Zoey wouldn’t say no to such an offer, but alas, the ring on Doctor Chopra or Chaudhri’s finger said she was married, and Zoey didn’t need another person’s wife to hate her guts.

“Do what he did, use a drone and set it up for two-way communication.” Zoey said, one arm in Doctor Chopra or Chaudhri’s hand, the other bracing her weight on the staircase banister. She leveled her gaze on Will when they all spun around to look at her and she did her absolute best not to burst out laughing at the sight of him. The wound was apparently still too raw.

His _and_ hers.

The Surgeon had sent a drone just over the boundary of the walls, a gun attached to the bottom. He’d rigged it to fire automatically, which immediately set off the propellant cookers. Once he confirmed what he already knew, that standard firearms were out of the equation, they were waiting with bated breath to see what his next salvo would be.

Wherever he was doing it from, Kowalski and the other members of Ashe Security couldn’t locate him, as he’d testily relayed after the third time Will had ordered him to check the surrounding area. The Surgeon knew he was safe away from Zoey’s entourage, and all he had to do was bide his time.

What he _didn’t_ know is that his bounty was about to go up in flames.

Grayson Young, under the gentle ministrations of Budd and Andre, had cracked like an egg, spilling everything he knew about Arthur’s will, who he’d spoken to, and who had staked the money for the bounty. The egg metaphor was further completed when Will had entered the room, causing Grayson to stain his tan suit yellow with piss. After that, he couldn’t stop himself from giving everyone up.

Seriously, at one point, Andre had to tape Grayson’s mouth shut to stop him from talking.

Zoey hadn’t been there, of course, she’d been up in her room, being tended to by Doctor Chopra or Chaudhri and Carlton, who’d brought her soft pajamas to change into, after she’d been cleaned up of blood and puke. A white ribbon of gauze had been wrapped around her head to stop stem the blood flow from the gash on the back of her head, and Doctor Chopra or Chaudhri had been instructing Zoey on what she needed to do while her brain healed from the injury, but she’d been too concerned with what was going on downstairs to pay much attention.

She had hopped off the bed, much to the protest of Carlton and Doctor Chopra or Chaudhri. Zoey had made her way downstairs, the voices of the Suits filtering into her ears, filling her in on what had happened in her absence.

Grayson Young had indeed worked at Prince, Tapper, & Cohen when Arthur’s will had been electronically delivered to their law offices. The infamy that had been his life had enthralled billions, and most especially, Grayson and his co-workers. They’d all gathered around to see the hologram of Arthur making his last wishes known, revealing his woes to his sole heir and threatening any who would do her harm.

The last part, the one about disinheriting anyone who tried to enrich themselves by getting Zoey’s blood on their hands and giving all his wealth to the Mormons had ruminated in Grayson’s mind for the better part of a year, until he’d finally broken down and confessed what he’d heard to close friends, other elders of the Church. It had all been talk at first, young, wide-eyed idealist talk, taking down a corrupt empire, a corrupt city, and returning that ill-gained wealth to righteous believers who stood up against violence and iniquity. To be heroes to those Arthur and the other founders of Tabula Ra$a had subjugated.

The story of Arthur’s will burned through the Temple ranks like wildfire, until the higher ups caught wind. The higher ups made a show of squashing any talk of ending Zoey's life, but behind closed doors, it was too lucrative an opportunity for them to pass up. They had a moral obligation to oversee this ritual ordinance, they had argued, to strike at the heart of the vile and reap the rewards. The First Presidency of the Temple in Salt Lake City had staked the bounty money themselves, declaring the future windfall a sign from God that they had been blessed as saviors of the downtrodden.

Will had offered Grayson his life, in exchange for a sworn testimony against those who had set the assassination attempt into motion, playing on his morality of being involved with innocent blood being shed.

Oh, right, the intern, the one that had been killed while carrying Zoey’s will to the courthouse? Didn’t even have the will on him. The paralegal hadn’t been paying attention when she gathered up the package stuffed with paperwork and handed it off to him. It had been sitting on her desk until about twenty minutes ago, when it had been rushed to the courthouse before the end of business hours, along with a hefty bribe to get the wheels of justice moving in their favor.

The kid, just doing his job, had been gunned down for nothing. Grayson had wept and swore to atone, that he’d do whatever Will wanted.

Zoey had been stopped on the landing above the foyer, listening to the Suits talk quietly, when Stench Machine gave her away. He let out a fart of surprise and ran up the steps toward her. Her cover blown, Zoey had limped down the stairs, the Suits staring at her in confusion and concern, the doctor urging her to go back upstairs.

“I’m serious, get a message out to him, let him know Grayson squealed like a little piggy and the Mormons are about to lose their shirts when my will supersedes Arthur’s. He’s got no reason to stick around, and if he doesn’t believe you, tell him he can watch Grayson broadcast his confession on Blink.”

Echo stepped forward, reaching a hand to Zoey. “Are you still concussed or are you _actually_ suggesting we let an assassin through those doors?”

“He kills people for money, right?”

“… yes.” Echo answered, suddenly unsure of her footing in this conversation.

“Is there any money left to pay him for killing me?”

“No…”

“Well then, you guys get this garbage can of French fried buttholes doing its best Echo impression outta here and get her somewhere she can pilot a drone.”

Echo laughed, the sound bouncing off the foyer, and nodded her head dutifully. “On it.” She patted Zoey’s hand on the bannister. “I’m glad you’re alive. You really gave us a scare.” It _had_ been scary, seeing Zoey pale and shaking in Will’s arms, blood dripping down her neck, looking like death warmed over. Sure, they _joked_ about Zoey looking like that all the time, but seeing it in real life hadn’t been very funny.

“You’ve been talking to Wu.”

Echo tilted her head to the side, her eyes narrowed and Wu cleared his throat to get her attention.

“She didn’t think we were her friends. She thought we were just people she employed for fetish porn.”

Andre barked out a laugh. “Hot damn!”

Zoey narrowed her eyes at him. “Nu-uh, I’m not into mother-daughter shit, so don’t even think about it.” By sleeping with Melinda Ashe, Andre had forever removed himself as ever being thought of sexually by Zoey. But there was always the one friend who found their other friend’s mom hot, and Zoey supposed she could live with it.

“Man, even me and Carlton?” Budd asked, waggling his bushy eyebrows, a playful twinkle in his eyes. As a man who prided himself on knowing anyone who was anyone, and even people who weren’t anyone at all, it warmed the cockles to know Zoey regarded him so highly, especially after the first impression they’d made on her, right before she’d fired their sorry asses.

“Sure,” Zoey said, “if you’re into lemon parties. Just ask Andre, he banged my mom, after all.”

The foyer filled with the din of their collective voices, laughing, enjoying the brief moment of hilarity before reality came crashing down around their ears. The calm before the storm.

Echo was the first to turn toward her task, saying something to Budd as she led them all to the Farting Room, where she could link in to one of the dozen or so security drones they used to monitor the grounds. Andre brought up the rear, rubbing away the beads of sweat on his Whopper-shaped head from laughing so hard, leaving Will and Zoey alone.

Well, not so alone, the doctor was still trying to get Zoey back upstairs.

“Dr. Sharma," Will said politely, "if you could give us a moment.”

 _Whoops_.

Doctor Sharma, not Chopra or Chaudhri, realizing she wasn’t going to win this battle, nodded her head, and walked back up the landing above the foyer, close enough if she was needed, but far enough away to give them privacy.

Will had a very serious expression on his face, but Zoey couldn’t hold back the laughter anymore. It was just a giggle at first, and she had to clamp a hand over her mouth before she hurt herself.

He was not amused.

“I’m sorry, I just… _wow_.” She whistled appreciatively, feeling like she was seeing him for the first time. 

After having been unceremoniously puked on, Will had divested himself of his jacket, waistcoat, and tie, leaving him in just his button-down shirt. Carlton had apparently done his best to clean up the stain she’d left behind on it, but without a spare outfit to change into (or too preoccupied to fetch a spare suit he probably had stashed somewhere), he had been forced to walk around in a state Zoey had never before seen him in: shirtsleeves rolled up, top two buttons undone, exposing his neck and collarbone, a faint orange ring staining the front of his shirt, the pizza she’d had for lunch.

“You could almost pass for human.” _Say, Will, have you ever had a massage so good, you almost blacked out_? “Would your robot overlords approve? I don’t have the time to argue with them if they try to recall you.”

“Zoey, I… I know what’ve told you in the past, about learning your lesson when it comes to blurring the line of employee and employer, and about knowing what elements are attracted to your position of power, about being careful, but I believe-”

“Will, I got the drone up and running. I think The Surgeon is taking the bait!” Echo’s voice rang down the hall, cutting Will off.

He sighed but to anyone else, it would have seemed he was just exhaling a centering breath, before jumping back into the fray. Will squared his shoulders and spun on his heel toward the Farting Room. He made it about five steps before Zoey called out for him.

Will didn’t respond, instead picking up his pace to attend to the task at hand.

* * *

By the following morning, it was near impossible to tell anyone at the Casa had spent the last twenty-four hours losing their minds.

Will Blackwater had worked his verbal magic on The Surgeon, not getting him to a physical table (it would have broken the mystique of never having his face seen) but convinced him to put his weapons down while he listened to what Will had to say, via their drone.

With his signature drink in hand, Will had laid out the facts as they were: Arthur Livingston’s last will and testament held no more sway over the future of his vast holdings and interests, now that Zoey had submitted her own. His payors at the Mormon Temple in Salt Lake now had zero motivation to honor the bounty on Zoey, and indeed, the poor courier’s death at his hand had essentially been performed for free.

In return for not taking the intern’s death or the attempts on Zoey’s life personally, Will offered his own bounty to The Surgeon, to take out everyone Grayson Young had named in his confession (having patched The Surgeon into the Blink feed to hear for himself), up to and including the heads of the Temple, the First Presidency.

If The Surgeon agreed to the terms, he would be generously paid for his work, receive personal recommendations from Will himself, should anyone in his circle need a professional assassin, and Will’s strict word that he would never seek revenge on him for the day’s actions, precluding, of course, if he ever took up a bounty on Zoey or the Suits, at which point all deals would be off.

Echo transferred an upfront deposit to an untraceable bank account The Surgeon had specified, an electronic contract was signed, and he was out of their lives for good.

Zoey burped loudly, enough that it echoed off the walls of the room, making Echo wince and then noddingly approve. Her artfully coiffed curls bounced with the motion, making Zoey jealous.

“So, this story you’ve tied up in a neat little bow, did it actually happen like that, or are you pulling my pud?” She asked from her perch in bed. Doctor Sharma had moved her to what had been designated the Medical Ward. It had been mostly stocked with hospital supplies in Arthur’s lifetime, as a man staring down sixty that loved drugs, drink, and loose women, naturally needed semi-regular medical intervention. Their collection had taken its true shape after the events with Molech, when nearly all of them almost had their tickets punched, followed again several months later, in the incident with Titus Chobb and Dirk Vikerness.

The Medical Ward had a bed that could be adjusted up or down, and Doctor Sharma had decided until all the effects of Zoey’s concussion had cleared up, it was best she stayed out of a completely supine position. Stench Machine was decidedly unhappy with that decision, as it meant he couldn’t park his gassy ass right in her face as he slept.

A few machines beeped softly around her, monitoring her vitals, which were directly linked to Doctor Sharma’s phone. A bag of saline hung above Zoey’s head, though it wasn’t hooked up the needle in her arm, as she’d already downed a bag after waking up. Her veins thought it tasted like salty piss after a night’s binge drinking.

Carlton made up for it by bringing her a delicious morning shake. Zoey hadn’t thrown up after her encounter with Will’s suit, but per the doctor’s orders, no solid foods for at least a day. The breakfast shake had been made with fresh fruit, and she wondered if the lunch shake would be made with fresh tacos. Mmmh, sour cream.

To answer Zoey’s question, Echo wiggled her hand in the air. “Eh… mostly. The Surgeon had a thick Scandinavian accent, and his English was middling at best. There was some frustrated back and forth, a few threats, until I plugged in a translator. Then it was all smooth sailing. I think Will liked him, another pragmatic man like himself, no dick measuring, just all business.”

“So wait, Will gets all the credit, even if it was you who saved the day?”

Echo shrugged. “It was a team effort. As long as the important people know who did the saving, and I can hold it over Will’s head at an undisclosed future date, I don’t mind. Oh, speaking of saving, did you see the Blink of your accident?”

Zoey had most definitely _not_. She’d made a point of not watching the news feeds, as she didn’t want to see what her trolls were saying now. Cow Accident? This Little Piggy Almost Went to Heaven? Cat Boobs Cashes In One of Her Lives? She could only imagine what inventive things they’d been tagging the story with.

“Why, so I can have another neurotic meltdown and threaten to take my mom and Stench Machine back to Colorado? Will can only talk me down so many times before he throws in the towel and buys our train tickets for us. As much as he enjoys being unendingly annoyed, I don’t think I have it in me today to indulge him.”

Echo flashed her a coy smirk and waved a hand to bring up the Blink feeds. The biggest headline was of course that the leaders of the Mormon Temple had gone into hiding. A few talking-head politicians of the faith were doing their level best to distance themselves from the whole affair, and a few testimonials were playing from current and lapsed members decrying the incident, declaring that Holy Father would never approve of religiously sanctioned homicide.

“You can please some of the people some of the time…” Zoey muttered.

Scrolling past all that, Echo found a feed about the accident, from one of Zoey’s fans, no less. It was one of the girls Zoey had taken a picture with on the sidewalk near the park, a black girl with neon pink hair. Echo skipped back a few seconds, to play it before the footage started.

“-and there we were, talking with _the_ Zoey Ashe!” The girl on the feed was wearing the same animated stripper Statue of Liberty shirt Zoey had been wearing the day before. Hot damn, she genuinely was a trendsetter. “Girl looked. Glam. As. Hellsballs!” On the feed, the pink-haired girl showed off the photos they had taken, Zoey striking poses she thought would make her look semi-decent on film. “Mr. Land of the Rising Sun broke up the fun-fest, though, because Zoey had _serious business_ to attend to-”

“Do they not know Wu is from California? Or that he’s Chinese-American? Or do they just not care?”

“Hey, take it from the source, it doesn’t matter if you’re Korean, Malaysian, or Filipino,” Echo raised her hand at that, “to you round-eyes, we’re all either from China or Japan, and even with only those two choices, you all _still_ get it wrong the first try. Now shut your cock-holster, we’re getting to the good part.”

“And then!” The girl on the feed said dramatically, “the Douchening happened. This asshole casserole in the midlife crisis mobile came barreling down the street!”

She continued narrating over the video, stitched together from her own Blink feed, and bystanders on the other three sides of the intersection who had better views of the accident.

Zoey watched herself staring blankly at the crowds around her, lost in her own thoughts about the denizens of Tabula Ra$a. The crosswalk sign gave them the all-clear and Wu stepped out into the street. He’d only gone a few paces when he sensed Zoey wasn’t behind him and turned to call back for her. The whole time, Will had stayed planted behind her, waiting for her to move. She was jarred from her thoughts and immediately set her boots to walking.

When she’d made it about halfway, the people around her began shouting, horns honking as the cherry red hot rod plowed through the intersection, tire squealing. Zoey watched herself stop dead in her tracks, like an absolute moron deer that runs from the slightest hint of a twig breaking but freezes when headlights bear down on them. Deer Zoey stood stock still in the crosswalk, seemingly accepting her fate of being turned into a main entrée at the Roadkill Café.

Would she be gamey or chewy? Either way, all of it would probably be mostly gristle, she decided.

The only thing that saved her from her restaurant debut was a black blur, Will charging forward with an expression of sheer determination on his otherwise expressionless face. His fedora went tumbling away in the wind. He was so much taller compared to her that he had to lower his head and shoulders to get his arms around her waist.

 _Surprise street hug! Scabies at no extra charge_!

Zoey had no recollection whatsoever of rolling on the street, but they had. Will’s weight knocked her out of the way as he scooped her into his arms and the kinetic energy pitched them to the side. Her ass hit the pavement first, then her head as they rolled twice on the pavement before coming to a stop near the curb of the adjacent sidewalk.

The crowds around them panicked, people rushing back and forth to one side of the street or the other, and a few daring souls chucked bottles of water and beer at the offending car. The feed switched to a Blink camera diagonal to them, giving Zoey a clear view of what she did remember.

 _Fear_.

They had come to a stop, Wu standing over them as he kept the busybodies away, hands outstretched as he issued loud commands. Will made no attempts to pick himself up, to slide back into the calm persona most of the city attributed to them. Instead, he clutched Zoey to him, staring down at her with wide, fearful eyes. If not for all the onlookers and the thousand cameras, their positions would have bordered on public indecency. Not that public indecency was illegal in their city.

She was splayed out on the ground, arms wrapped tightly around Will’s torso, one of his knees between her legs as they stared into each other’s eyes. With Will in his thousand dollar suit and her in her fashionably scuffed-up jeans and risqué shirt, they made quite the disparate pair. If there had been some soulful string music cued up over the image, Zoey might have believed she was watching a romantic comedy, where the two obviously made-for-each-other leads realized their love for each other after an inciting incident.

There was no music though, just curses, shouting, and the usual din of the city. Several cars honked their horns, anxious to get where they were going now that no one had died.

Zoey watched Wu kneel down beside them, speaking calmly to Will. His words broke the spell, and Will reverted to his normal self. He peeled himself off Zoey and stood up, straightening out the cuffs of his shirt. Zoey watched herself perform a self-diagnosis of her injures before Wu lifted her up by the armpits to move her so that she was safely on the curb.

They spoke briefly, while Will stood over them, eyes like beams of ice as he scanned the area around them, taking note of faces and cameras. Crunching the numbers in his calculator brain, wondering how much street cred his heroics had just cost him. Wu said something to him and Will shifted back into gear, helping Wu lift her up off the curb to get her back to the car.

Echo shut the feed off, shifting in her chair to look at Zoey.

“Huh. I didn’t know Will had been programmed with a superhero feature. Never knew he had it in him...” It had been jarring, to watch him drop all pretenses and show actual concern for another human being. It was like finding out your favorite children’s entertainment host engaged in BDSM play or attended Klan rallies on the weekends. Expectations just didn’t match up with reality.

There was a beat of silence, followed by, “You’re joking, right? Forgetting every other time he’s saved your bacon… you do remember that his wife died in a car accident?”

Zoey glanced down at the blanket covering her and idly picked at a loose thread. “I remember. I just...” She liked to joke about Will being a robot, more concerned with logic and facts to the point of almost being alien, but Zoey knew he was capable of emotions. More than that, he was capable of acting on them, if the moment called for it, which it rarely did, in his book.

Like the previous summer, when he’d gone to the ends of the earth to scrub away all evidence of her poor life choices. Like saving Stench Machine, only to be repaid with scratches for his efforts. Zoey guessed she and Stench Machine had that in common, when it came to Will.

The few times Will spoke of his wife, he’d done his best to hide the pain of losing her, speaking of her accident in practical tones, but she knew the ache he felt for her was still there, underneath the stoic veneer. Seeing her nearly run down by a car in almost the same fashion, it must have ignited something within him, the chance to right a wrong he hadn’t been able to right in the past.

“You just what? Cover your real feelings with sarcastic jokes and inappropriate comments?”

“My feelings? Are we having this conversation? I thought we were friends but I didn’t think we were girlfriends.”

Echo stood up from her chair, adjusting the stunning shirt dress that hugged her body over her leggings, and moved to sit on the bed with Zoey. There wasn’t much room, as it was a hospital bed, but with a bit of wiggling, they made it work.

Leaning on her side, Echo slid her arm over Zoey’s, putting a hand over hers. “Wu told me about you having to choose one of us to be your beneficiary, that you were worried we were only your friends because you paid us. Every single one of us is emotionally constipated in some way, but money isn’t the only reason we stick around. Remember after you fired us, and Will still got ahold of you, to convince you to hire us back? In the beginning, it was about loyalty to your father, about making sure his legacy stayed intact, which meant _not_ letting the city get blown up. But then we all got to know you, and we decided to keep working with you because we _liked_ you and wanted to help you be the person your father thought you were.”

Zoey was not crying. Nope, not at all. “You’re not just saying that?” She asked through the sudden cloud cover that had built up in the room, making it hard for her to see. After a lifetime of getting shuffled aside in favor of someone prettier, thinner, and with all their teeth, it had left her with some hefty trust issues.

“Girl, you have money and power, and even if you lost it all tomorrow… I’d have to go work for someone else, sure, but I’d still consider you one of my friends. Even Wu, with his wife that wishes she had some Raiden tech to turn you into a charred stain on the wall, would still be your friend. And this is my point, Will didn’t save you because a switch in his brain was flipped to superhero mode, he did it because he _cares_ about you. As a friend, as a… look, if the rumors about him trying to take you out were true, he’d have let that car hit you.”

Zoey glanced away. She hadn’t told any of the Suits the truth about what really happened the night she’d ‘accidentally overdosed’. Even being in the dark, Echo had to hear the rumors about Will, that he’d poisoned her, that he was planting the seeds for a hostile takeover and she _still_ didn’t believe them, despite knowing he was incredibly capable of making it happen if he truly wanted. If Zoey needed any more proof of Echo’s sincerity, that would have sealed the deal, her unwavering faith.

“Maybe I should apologize to him, for making him have to relive that. For being stupid enough to stop in the middle of the damn road and-”

“People talk all the time about the fight or flight response, as if those are the only two options, but it’s not. It’s flight, fight, or freeze. And you froze, so what? Do you know how many times I’ve frozen up in a fight? It happens to the best of us. I once saw Andre freeze up in a throwdown after a stripper ran by him and he got distracted by her tits.”

Zoey snorted. “Go figure.”

“When you talk to Will, don’t try apologizing, because he’s gonna pretend not to hear it anyway. If you bring up his wife, especially after what just happened, he’ll just get maudlin and start drinking again, and I don’t feel like having another intervention.” It had been a birthday prank, throwing an intervention for Will to discuss his so-called drinking problem, and he’d not found it funny in the slightest. “Just thank him, let him know you appreciate everything he’s done for you, and go from there.”

"Go from there about what?" Zoey asked.

Echo just gave her a knowing smile. "Trust me. Talk to him."

Easier said than done. She’d not seen him since the day before, when he’d ignored her in favor of saving her life. Zoey supposed he had more important things to attend to, making the deal with The Surgeon, finishing up the Fourth of July plans, and generally running the business while she was out of commission, but he normally made the time to at least keep her apprised of what was going on, even if it was just in a simple message. As much as she _wanted_ to talk with him, she would just have to wait for him to decide it was safe to test the waters.

“So... is this the point where we start making out or what?”

* * *

It was nighttime when Zoey finally heard Will’s measured pace coming down the hall toward the Medical Ward. She’d been dozing in and out while watching the street streams, bored out of her gourd, but when she heard him coming, she quickly shook off her stupor, turning on the lights and pushing herself upright on the bed.

The door opened and Will took a few steps inside. His suit was as black as an asshole at midnight, seemingly devouring the light that shone down upon him, overcoat and fedora in hand.

“Well, shit, I guess we’re not going hat shopping then.” She turned her mouth down in a faux frown.

“I… didn’t think you’d remember that particular conversation.” He set his coat and hat on one of the chairs by the door. He then fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt, pulling them flush down his arms underneath his suit jacket. A nervous gesture.

“It’s a bit wobbly, but yeah, it’s all up here.” She motioned to her head. “I won’t have to get a metal plate like you’ve got put in, which means we can’t be twinsies, but I think I’ll live.” She paused, giving him an assessing glance. “What does ‘half your age plus seven’ mean?”

Will stopped fiddling.

“Nothing," He replied cagily, "just Wu reminding me of a conversation I hadn’t known I’d forgotten about. It was quite a hectic day, yesterday, after all, emotions running high. But it’s been sorted and we can return to the status quo.”

Zoey knew he didn’t just mean on the business side of things. “Yeah, I heard how Echo pretty much saved my sorry ass. I gave her a solid ten for her performance. Which is not something I can say for you.”

“Oh. Should I be worried about a coup for my position?” He asked, his tone saying he knew damn well his position was quite safe, thank you.

“I dunno, you set the bar kinda low yesterday.” Will frowned at that, and Zoey smirked. She was a few steps ahead of him and he hated it. “Lotta feeds angry with you for saving me. I think one of those blabbering macho idiots called it the ‘biggest disservice to Tabula Rasa’ or something like that. It may have to go on your permanent record.”

He managed the barest hints of a smile, finally catching up. Or _thinking_ he had. “As if they needed more reason to hate me. Am I to be reprimanded for this unthinkable error? Perhaps some punishment involving loss of limb or a ridiculous act of atonement?” Zoey had quite the knack for coming up with amusing (to her) acts of attrition.

“No, I think being in charge of all this when I’m dead is punishment enough.”

There it was. Complete server meltdown. Will’s expression went blank.

 _Error error error_.

“You didn’t read the paperwork, did you? I made you my beneficiary, in the event someone manages to turn me into a steaming hunk of meat and fat.”

“Zoey, I-”

“You said designate someone I trusted not to go behind my back. That’s _you_. And I did that even before you saved my life. Er, saved my life this most recent time. With the car, I mean.”

Will waved a hand to cut her off. “I know what you mean, but I can’t accept this.”

“Why not? Are you saying I shouldn’t trust you?”

“Not at all, I’ve told you before, I wouldn’t do something like that to you. I can’t accept it because it would be a conflict of interest. If word gets out that I’m to take over after your death-”

“Blah blah blah, I’m adjusting my definition of normal. Normal means someone will always be out there looking for a pound of flesh. And believe me, I got a lot of pounds to spare. But I’m surrounded by friends, _real_ friends, people who won’t let that happen. And in any other situation, a person in my position would choose the most capable, the most dependable, and most trustworthy person to take over their empire. That’s you, Will Blackwater, I _choose_ you. I mean, I don’t know how legally binding it is, since no one actually knows if that’s even your real name, but… I went with what you gave me, hopefully it sticks.”

She could sense the annoyance building up in Will, to the point that he crossed to the room to loom over her sickbed like a fairy tale monster. “It’s a conflict of interest because certain groups already believe I made a power play last year. That I set the wheels in motion to have you institutionalized, to not only have you removed from the game but erased from the board.”

Zoey gave him a flat look. “Yeah, and they only believe that because _you_ were the one that let them. You were the one that ‘found’ me, only _you_ could have fed that info to the news and the trolls.”

“It had to be sold as such to conceal the truth, and to let our enemies think there was a potential schism between us. You may not have planned to… do what you did, but the benefits of it have been fortuitous in ways even I didn’t think possible. Comments have been made, insinuations that were I to go for the jugular, I wouldn’t be alone. The snakes in the grass revealing themselves. If it ever comes down to it, I now know who will back our plays and who will double cross us.”

“Which… is why you decided to work with Megaboss Alonzo. He tried to warn me about you, that if I took my eyes off you, you’d betray me.” He’d also said a bunch of other things about Will, insinuated things about her and him, but Zoey had outright ignored that particular piece of advice.

“Yes, I knew that despite his theatrics, he had bigger designs on the city. Designs that included you remaining above ground. It seemed the best marriage of ideals.”

“Ewwww! Is that what you wanted me to get all dressed up for him, so you could whore me out?” It wouldn’t have been the first marriage Will had arranged, as a means to keep those around him alive and kicking.

Will looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“Oh my god! Tell me you weren’t gonna offer me up to some stranger for two goats and a fatted calf! Tell me you weren’t and I’ll believe you!” She stared up at him with wide eyes, silently pleading with him.

“For the last time, I would _not_ do such a thing to you. He’s a man, you’re a woman, if you’d gone in wearing that dress, it might have given him some incentive to cooperate with us sooner if he _thought_ I was offering you up as payment for services rendered. Or rather, offering yourself up, as coerced marriage is still illegal, even in this city.”

Zoey huffed out a relieved laugh, for a moment terrified their conversation was going to take a turn she hadn’t expected. “The Magician and his illusions…”

Exasperated, Will sat down on the bed, careful not to take up too much space, or close enough to be accused to impropriety. “Since you know how much I love repeating myself, I’ll say it again: it is my job as your employee to anticipate everything, to know how our competition and enemies think, and to act and react accordingly. If it means devising a scenario where our greatest assets are _your_ greatest assets, to lull an opponent into a false sense of security, I will use any advantage at my disposal. You may think I’m selling you out or whoring you out, but what I’m actually doing is shuffling the pieces on the board in a way that will benefit me, and therefore, benefit you.”

Zoey stifled a grin. Despite all her money and power, he'd just implied her greatest asset was her tits. She rolled over on her side to look up at Will, making sure not to jostle the wires she was attached to. “And what's your job as my friend? That’s what you were gonna say yesterday, when we were talking about friendship, you wanted me to know you were my friend?”

Will looked uncomfortable again. “… my job as your friend. If Megaboss Alonzo had made a move neither you nor I approved of, in _any_ sense of the word… his family would have buried an empty casket.” He said, a lethal edge to his voice.

Mr. Vicious being territorial again. Marking _his_ territory. It all started to make sense, why Echo had told her to talk to Will.

“I’m sorry I put you in that situation yesterday." Zoey said suddenly. "I know it must have brought up bad memories for you, to have to go through that all over again.”

Shifting on the mattress, Will turned his torso to peer down at Zoey. “It did. It _has_... but it’s not your fault, so don’t apologize to me. I was more concerned with not adding to those bad memories, even if it meant putting myself in danger. I'd rather that than standing by and watching you die while doing nothing, out of a sense of self-preservation. I wouldn’t do that to you...”

“It wasn’t just that.” Zoey whispered. “I saw the look on your face. You were afraid. I’ve never seen you afraid before. I didn’t think it was even possible for you to-”

“What, care about you? To care about anyone? To go against my programming, as you like to say? You know why those lawyers at Decker’s firm hate me? They represented the insurance company that underwrote my wife’s life insurance policy. They tried to deny the payout, saying I’d orchestrated the robbery, and when that proved demonstrably false, they claimed we never paid the last premium on the policy, even though she died two days before it was due. When the judge threw it out, they claimed I coerced her into signing the policy over to me, which would have invalidated it. It was nasty and ugly, and by the time I was through with them, Decker lost the company as a client. Cost him millions. But I dealt with them anyway, because I knew they weren’t in the pocket of the Mormons, I knew they needed a big name client, and getting the job done for you was more important than my pride. I went to them because I cared about making sure you were protected.

“I may not go around making heartfelt declarations like Echo or Wu, or make grand gestures like Andre and Budd, because my gestures and declarations of how much I care are made through action. Through getting results. And I care more than you’ll possibly ever know, Zoey.”

She thought back to everything Will had ever done since her ignominious arrival in Tabula Ra$a. Even before then, when he’d called to warn her about the Hyena, calmly instructing her on how to survive the imminent attack as if she were taking a casual stroll in the park, even though he didn’t even know her. If actions spoke louder than words, the stoic man might as well have been screaming his heart out.

Pushing herself up on the bed, Zoey sat up and encircled her arms around Will, resting her head on his shoulder. He didn’t react at first, sitting stock still on the bed as if he were being attacked by a bear. After a moment, however, when he figured he wasn't about to get mauled, he gave in and moved to hug Zoey closer to him. Definitely better than their street hug.

“Thank you.” She said into his neck. “I know I give you shit all the time and make you clean up after my stupid decisions and that I’m the worst boss ever, but that’s how _I_ show I care. Fart jokes and public humiliation. Kind of my bread and butter.”

“I’m well aware. Believe me, I’m _well_ aware.”

Zoey belted out a laugh and lifted her head up from Will’s shoulder to look at him. Those blue eyes had warmed considerably. She could feel his breath on her face. This close up, she could see a nose hair that needed to be plucked.

“Will…”

He raised a hand to cup her cheek and arched a brow. His breaths quickened as the air around them became charged as their dynamic teetered on the edge of shifting drastically.

Zoey licked her lips in anticipation, heart thundering in her chest. “What does ‘half your age plus seven’ mean?”

“I don’t care.” He answered, quickly closing the gap between them.

**Author's Note:**

> I read Zoey Punches The Future In The Dick in three days, went back to reread Futuristic Violence & Fancy Suits over two days and hammered this out in two days. This probably should have been three different chapters but the words just wouldn’t stop coming. If you spot any grammatical or spelling errors I missed, please be my guest and point them out to me, so I may fix them. :)


End file.
